


Not Too Not Familiar

by EdgarAllenPoet



Series: DnD 101 (my TAZ graduation fics) [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Boys Will Be Boys, Characters keep to themselves, College, Gen, Graduate School, Institute of Planar Research and Exploration, Roughhousing, Studying, TAZ Balance, Taz Graduation, These two universes do not interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: The TAZ Graduation crew is all undergrads.The IPRE were doctoral students.
Relationships: Bud & Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Lup & Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Series: DnD 101 (my TAZ graduation fics) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556788
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





	Not Too Not Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> I said on tumblr I'd write something about this, and I did. 
> 
> A sweet little thing comparing scenes of the Balance crew in their studies, and the Graduation crew in their own.

"Greg Grimaldis, you son of a bitch!" Lup's voice rang loud and clear over the din of the commissary, and a good number of people swiveled to glance or glare in their direction as Lup took off full speed from the burrito bar to the young man standing a few dozen yards away. 

Taako watched the scene as his sister threw herself at him, leaping through the air to catch him with an arm hooked around his neck, knuckles grinding into his head as if they were on a primary school playground and not the cafeteria of the most elite post-graduate research academy on all of Tuusun. 

He ambled over at a much calmer pace, not in any real rush to make it their way. Something about Greg just rubbed him the wrong way, but he wasn't about to go and tell Lup yet. Not without any real evidence to back up his hunch. She was running her whole campaign about the two of them making friends, and Taako had been too resistant early in on this plan. Any ill feelings about Greg would just be met with tired skepticism and yet another well-meaning lecture about expanding their social circle. 

No thank you, actually. His social circle was a small one, occupancy: two. He didn't need Greg Grimaldis or anyone else, but he also didn't need a lecture. Taako was good out here. 

"Greg's taking us out," Lup declared, still hanging off her shoulders and beaming brighter than both suns when Taako finally approached them. Greg rolled his eyes good-naturedly, while Taako made himself mimick Lup's excited expression. 

"Well let's get to it then!" he declared, and he followed them out. Taako wasn't above taking the path of least resistance. Did he like getting under people's skin and raising eyebrows? Hell yeah he did. But was he also an expert at slipping silently out of situations, keeping his distance, and being one foot out the door at all times, just in case? You know it. 

With Lup, the path of least resistance was often the wisest one. She was smart enough to keep them out of trouble, but stubborn enough to drag Taako kicking and screaming with her-- trouble or not. Sisters. 

The Institute for Planar Research and Exploration was a very serious campus, but with a short walk off of school grounds, one could find themselves in the land of entertainment opportunities. Or... not really. Taako and Lup had stayed far more exciting places before they were of legal age to enjoy any of it (not that there'd been much adult supervision to stop them). There were pubs, though, and a couple of shows. 

And Taako and Lup were serious students, but they'd been around long enough by now to know what they liked. They dragged Greg Grimaldis after them to their usual hang, flashed smiles at the barkeep and set up shop at a little table with the coziest bench cushions and the least sticky of all the tables. 

"Read 'em and weep, boys," Lup said, still in the beginning stages of setting up their card game and shuffling the cards around. Taako slipped his off the table and hummed contemplatively to himself, sorting cards into suit order and slipping a particularly desirable card down his jacket sleeve.

Lup kicked him under the table, and Taako immediately burnt the card in a barely noticeable flash. Gone forever. 

"What?" he asked, feigning innocent, as she pointed between her own eyes and his with the well-known hand signal for 'I'm watching you.' 

"What are we celebrating anyway?" Greg asked, chewing his bottom lip as he looked over his cards, glancing forlornly at the card face up on the table. He crinkled his eyebrows. 

Lup grinned and threw two cards onto the stack instead of three. Greg didn't notice. Taako knocked his knee against hers in warning, until his attention was caught by a nice looking card prodding him in the thigh. Forgiven, then. He slipped the card towards him effortlessly. 

"Why, it's Tuesday," Lup said, holding both arms out theatrically. "Isn't that enough to celebrate?" 

  
\---

  
"You are sure..." the Firbolg asked from the doorway, where he stood with one hand on the doorknob and a half-asleep expression shadowing his eyes. "You stay?" 

"I stay," Fitzroy agreed, clutching his pajamas in both hands and tapping an impatient toe on the floor as he waited for Bud to leave. It was late, and he was tired. He'd had a terribly long day, and a terribly long week, and he needed to get to an early night's rest if he wanted to get his schedule back on track tomorrow. He'd been skimping on his routine, missing workouts and neglecting his own self-care. 

He hadn't given up hope on becoming a knight (a real knight, a full-fledged knight) one day, but it would do him absolutely no good to get rusty in the meantime. Fighting was about technique, about rehearsal, about practicing the same movement so many times that it sprung from your muscle memory like second nature the moment you came to need it. 

And well, with all this henchman stuff he might actually still need it, and God knows Wiggenstaff's wasn't actually teaching him a damn--

No, no, it was fine. He'd get this whole situation figured out, he'd get back on the correct path, and everything would be fine. For the time being there was no use in getting ridiculous.

Bud nodded, and then he was out the door, ducking under the frame not quite tall enough to accommodate for his height. Someone really ought to say something. There ought to be some sort of policy about such things, some sort of regulation about making the campus accessible to students of all shapes and sizes, not just catering to the average six-foot humanoid and hoping everyone else could manage around it. 

Fitzroy would write a letter, perhaps. 

Not now, though. Now he would change into his pajamas, and he would refill Snippy's water, and he would finally get a good night's rest. 

It was a perfectly acceptable plan, he thought until he felt his hands start to shake just a little bit, thrumming. 

Oh, he thought to himself. Yes, of course, that figures. A night to himself, and too keyed up with unnecessary energy to get any sleep. 

He didn't have any school work that needed done, but he figured it wouldn't be terrible to work ahead. He set his pajamas down, peered at his stack of school work, and just as he was about to sit down a stereo radio started playing from somewhere in the dorms loud enough to shake his window with murmured thrumming. 

Great. 

"How do you feel about a night out, then?" he asked the crab, who clicked both claws twice in some sort of communication. Fitzroy sighed and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. That was fine, then. He'd go out, he'd blow off some steam, and he'd get up early regardless to get his schedule back on track. 

It would be fine. Maybe it would be fun. He held his hand out to Snippy, letting the little crab skitter up his arm to perch on his shoulder. He barely contained the shiver that tiny crab feet sent up his spine, and he pulled his shoulders back with a sigh before marching out the door. The Firbolg meandered about slowly. It shouldn't be too hard to catch up with him. 

Besides, this was Argo's first night at his new job as barkeep. It would be good manners to go and wish him luck, considering they had to live together and all. 

  
\---

  
The training for the Head of Security position on the Starblaster was more rigorous than Magnus had really thought he was signing himself up for. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful-- of course he was. This position was a dream come true, nothing he'd ever thought he'd accomplish. He was going into space! He was going beyond space! How cool was that!? 

But the training for it. What a pain in the ass.

The physical aspect of it was fine. Intense, but fine. More one-on-one attention to hand-to-hand combat. A lot more attention to conflict resolution and leadership, cultural intersections, surveillance, and maintaining morale. Turns out that being head of security was awfully complicated, and involved an unfortunate amount of powerpoint presentations. 

Even so, it wasn't anything Magnus couldn't handle, and the physical training more than made up for it. The gym was like something out of his dreams-- wall to wall padded mats, hanging bags, floor bags, grappling dummies. There was equipment for weight lifting, for fighting, an elevated track to run. After particularly stressful days of powerpoints, Magnus would go in there and let loose, running until his head ran clear and his calves started to scream. 

It was a little bittersweet to leave behind his training company, but he knew everyone was on their way out the door as it was. To positions as real soldiers or with the militia as law enforcement, personal guards for royalty, or out into the world as fighters and adventurers. Magnus couldn't imagine being an adventurer, just wandering into the wilds and looking for trouble and glory. 

It was titillating and terrifying. No, Magnus wasn't sure that was the path for him, though sometimes he wished he was brave enough to go after it. That was part of the reason he'd signed up for the mission in the first place-- without any confidence that he would actually get it, would actually chase that dream.

Too bad, though. He had a great job lined up, the kind of security gig that would open doors for the rest of his career if he wanted. And if he wanted to take on the life of an adventurer afterward, maybe this trip would prepare him for it. 

Until then, he had few precious weeks before the ship took off. Plenty of long nights spent alone in the gym. 

  
\---

  
"Dodge ball," Fitzroy complained, rubbing idly at a bright red mark that painted half of his face, the hair on that side of his head mussed up and out of order. Argo wondered if he should tell him. "I cannot believe they're still making us play dodge ball. They claim to train us for real-life situations, and they have us playing children's games."

  
"Too brutal for children," Bud said. He was holding a tiny daisy between giant fingers. Argo wondered when he'd had time to pick it. He watched in awe as the Firbolg lifted it to his mouth and ate the head of the flower in a single chomp. He chewed, swallowed, and tucked the stem behind his ear. Argo forced himself to quit staring. 

Fitzroy was still complaining about dodgeball, though that figured. They weren't off the training field yet, and gods know he could go on much longer than that if he was so inclined. Argo tuned him out as they walked towards the edge, where a painted line marked the shift from training grounds to open field, before just a short walk to the heart of campus. 

It was a small campus, just a couple of classroom buildings, and dormitories. The commissary, the pub, Grundy's shed tucked away down the hill. The training field itself had a few shacks put up for equipment storage, and while it wasn't much more than some trampled grass and a few posts in the ground, Argo thought it was wonderful. 

"Hey Fitzroy," he said, interrupting his roommate mid-sentence as Argo's mind switched to the topic of childhood games. 

Fitzroy sighed, mumbling something like, 'Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt...' under his breath, and Argo rolled his eyes before reaching out and smacking him on the shoulder. 

"You're it," he declared, leaping back a yard and grinning, proud of himself. Fitzroy blinked at him blankly, then turned his nose up and huffed. 

"That's childish," he complained. "I'm not playing." 

"Aw, come on, Fitzy, lighten up a little!" 

"It's Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt," Fitzroy complained, "And I-- Hey!" 

Fitzroy had been wearing his cloak loosely slung over one shoulder, and it was like taking candy from a baby to reach out and snag it. Argo balled it up, grinning devilishly, and said, "You want it back?"

"Yes," Fitzroy snapped. "Please." 

"Come and get it then." 

"What?"

"You heard me. Hey Bud, how fast do you think I can make it to the forest?" 

Bud looked up thoughtfully, said, "Not much time," but Argo was already off running like the wind across the training field. 

"Hey!" Fitzroy screeched after him, and Argo looked back over his shoulder to see Fitzroy sprinting after him. Gaining on him. Real fast. Ah shit. 

Sometimes Argo forgot that Fitzroy spent the past five years training to be a knight of the White House or whatever the fuck. He booked it, screaming and taking a sudden right as Fitzroy gained on him. Fitzroy skidded in the dirt but recovered far too easily, continuing the chase. Maybe Argo hadn't thought through this game properly. He stumbled over a chunk of loose turn, and that wouldn't have been enough to send him tumbling, except that it was enough for Fitzroy to properly catch up to him and plow into him with a flying tackle, sending them both crashing into the dirt. 

Argo screamed and the two went about rolling, shoving and slapping at each other, fighting over the cloak that Argo kept clutched to his chest in a death grip. He managed, somehow, to roll on top of Fitzroy and plant a hand on his face, pinning his head to the dirt and making the other boy squawk and sputter under him. 

"Keep away!" Argo shouted, and he launched the cloak through the air in Bud's direction. It was intercepted, however, by a deft hand catching it out of the air and holding it above his head. Jimson regarded them with an unamused expression on his face, and Argo tumbled off of Fitzroy and to his feet immediately. Fitzroy yelped indignantly and shoved himself to his feet, regarding Jimson with a wince and a half-bow. 

"My apologies, sir, we were just--"

"Keep away," Jimson said, serious expression cracking for merely a moment as he tossed the cloak back at Argo, who caught it with an overjoyed cackle before taking off across the training field again, away from the forest this time. 

"Oh, son of a bitch!" Fitzroy complained, and Argo wondered if he could make it to the dorms before Fitzroy caught up with him.

  
\---

  
Barry couldn't feel his face or his hands-- or if he thought about, any of his body really. He groaned, pressed his fingertips into his eyes and his glasses up onto his forehead. He yawned, opened his eyes. Still numb. 

He needed some water. Some coffee, too. He really needed to get to sleep, but he didn't have the time for that quite yet. 

Barry had gotten through harder challenges. He'd been conducting research like this since he was sixteen years old, running numbers and pouring himself into equations. He'd spent 1200mg of caffeine and fifteen long hours in the library beating the data for his first master's thesis into submission. He'd been nearly comatose while presenting it to his professor, and he'd crashed hard enough to sleep for two days afterward, but he'd gotten it done. 

That had been theoretical microfractures in transfigured materials, though. Baby stuff. That was math that existed that simply needed to be tested. The interplanar physics responsible for elemental configuration on alien planes, though? That didn't exist. That was math nobody had ever thought about before. Math they didn't think they fucking needed. 

But Barry needed it now, and he had nothing! His equations were a clusterfuck, his head was full of cotton balls, and his coffee machine was fucking broken. He was going to kill whatever snot-nosed grad student was responsible for that. 

Whoever led him to believe that continuing his studies in a post-doctorate was a good idea deserved all of the wrath he was throwing at the stupid chalkboards surrounding him. They were a mess of written and rubbed away figures, and the dust was clogging the air around him. There was chalk on his jeans, ink on his coat, and something sticky and unsettling in his hair. How'd he gotten that there? Why were his glasses greasy? 

He was in hell. 

Barry slumped back in his seat and sighed, closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them to look over the chalkboard again. He got this. He was close. Just a bloodhound chasing a rabbit. 

He pushed himself up out of his chair and shoved his glasses back up his nose, assessing his equations with his hands on his hips and an ache in the base of his spine. He wasn't old enough for backaches. Thirty wasn't old. This was ridiculous. 

He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and picked up his chalk. Maybe rewriting it would do something for him. He hadn't found a problem he couldn't logic through yet, and he wasn't about to start admitting defeat.

  
\---

  
"You carry the three," Fitzroy said. 

Bud blinked once, twice. "Carry..."

"That's the three," Argo said, leaning over Bud's shoulder and pointing. "Take it to the top there, and now you add it to that column, see?" 

"Add means put together," Bud said, either asking or just confirming for himself. 

Fitzroy dropped his head onto the desk with a heavy thunk. The three of them were spending the night in the dorms, crowded around yet another worksheet from the accounting professor. Every day he assigned a new worksheet to Bud, and every night they sat around it and did their best to explain the concepts to someone who'd never learned basic addition, never handled money, never even had to think about it. 

Apparently his tuition was covered by some underrepresented species grant, so Bud hadn't even had to consider the money passing hands there. How had he gotten his textbooks? Did he just walk out the door with them, and the poor underpaid campus bookstore employee had been so unsure as to how to apprehend this mountain of a creature that they'd just let him go? 

Either way, this was a mess, and tonight's assignment was almost entirely addition. 31 + 42. 

Fitzroy had been with tutors since he was old enough to speak, had been coached by magic instructors (until it became quite apparent that his abilities were never going to show up, at which point his parents refocused their efforts to more mundane academics and doubled down). They'd had him reading by three, playing the violin by four, and solving this kind of math without a second thought by the age of five. His family was well-off, and there'd be estates to handle with his inheritance. It was absolutely necessary that he be able to handle funds. 

Bud, not so much. Fitzroy wasn't sure what the Firbolg's upbringing had looked like, but he had a feeling it hadn't included many tutors. There were more important things, and Fitzroy knew that. He wasn't meaning to be culturally insensitive. It wouldn't matter a single bit if Bud could do math or not, except that they had to pass accounting to get through the school year, and just--

Fuck. 

Just fuck. They were fucked. 

"Try again," Argo said, climbing around them and sitting up on the desk. "So the three goes--" 

"You don't carry the three," Fitzroy groaned, speaking into the wood of the desk. 

He heard Argo pause. "You... what? You don't?"

"Perhaps sleep," Bud said, shoving his desk chair back and wandering off towards his corner of the room. "One day, I will do math." 

"You don't carry the three?" Argo asked, as Fitzroy slumped out of his chair and dragged himself towards his bed. He shuffled his feet and climbed up onto the bed, collapsing into the pillows face-first. "You don't carry the three!?" Argo asked, a bit more frantically. 

"Carry to bed," Bud rumbled. "Enough math tonight." 

Argo pulled the paper close to his nose and squinted at it. He picked up Bud's pencil and scratched at the page, trying to work at the equation. His eyes were tired. He could manage.

"Seventy-three!" Argo exclaimed after a moment. "You're right, Sir Fitzroy, you don't carry the three at all." 

"Man, FUCK accounting," Fitzroy whined, grabbing the blankets and pulling them up over his head to hide. 

A low, rumbling chuckle came from the floor as Bud agreed, "Yes. Fuck Accounting."

**Author's Note:**

> wanna chat? :)


End file.
